"He looks better to me," said Sam, staring critically at Whitey.
"I think he's kind of begun to fill out some. I expect he must like us, Penrod; we been doin' a good deal for this horse."
'Well, we got to keep it up," Penrod insisted rather pompously.
"Long as _I_ got charge o' this horse, he's goin' to get good treatment."
"What we better do now, Penrod?"
Penrod took on the outward signs of deep thought.
"Well, there's plenty to DO, all right. I got to think."
Sam made several suggestions, which Penrod--maintaining his air of preoccupation--dismissed with mere gestures.
"Oh, _I_ know!" Sam cried finally. "We ought to wash him so's he'll look whiter'n what he does now. We can turn the hose on him across the manger."
"No; not yet," Penrod said. "It's too soon after his meal. You ought to know that yourself. What we got to do is to make up a bed for him--if he wants to lay down or anything."
"Make up a what for him?" Sam echoed, dumfounded. "What you talkin' about? How can--"
"Sawdust," Penrod said. "That's the way the horse we used to have used to have it. We'll make this horse's bed in the other stall, and then he can go in there and lay down whenever he wants to."
"How we goin' to do it?"
"Look, Sam; there's the hole into the sawdust-box! All you got to do is walk in there with the shovel, stick the shovel in the hole till it gets full of sawdust, and then sprinkle it around on the empty stall."
"All _I_ got to do!" Sam cried. "What are you goin' to do?"
"I'm goin' to be right here," Penrod answered reassuringly. "He won't kick or anything, and it isn't goin' to take you half a second to slip around behind him to the other stall."
"What makes you think he won't kick?"
"Well, I KNOW he won't, and, besides, you could hit him with the shovel if he tried to. Anyhow, I'll be right here, won't I?"
"I don't care where you are," Sam said earnestly. "What difference would that make if he ki--"